This story was inspired by old film noirs such as The Big Combo and who doesn't love dogs?
Detective Leon O'Ryan drives his new 1940 police cruiser on a downtown street in the neo-noir majestic city of Dogsville. He's a Leonberger, a kind of cross between a St Bernard and a German Shepard. A thick-coated gentle giant, unless you cross him. In the distance he sees the Opera House. He parks under the neon art deco-styled sign "Opera House" and barks once as he gets out of his Ford. He wants everyone to know he's on a case. Well-dressed patrons pour into the entrance from the sidewalk.
O'Ryan, wearing hang-dog expression, approaches Tina, a frizzy-furred Terrier-mix ticket-taker in a theater uniform. He flashes his police badge with a hungry growl. "Rough night, Tina?" O'Ryan’s already headed backstage.
"Oh, Detective O'Ryan, so nice of you to ask ... but just ignore me and go right in" she sniffs. She's in love with him. The feelings not mutual.
O'Ryan enters a hallway and spots Lucky Lewis, an energetic and independent Irish Setter, and Bella Blade, a strong-willed alert Kerry Blue Terrier. They're sitting on their haunches outside an office having a spirited discussion.
"Give me that wink one more time I will cut you," Blade says to Lewis. YIIIPPP! Blade yelps, gently nips at her bottom, and growls at Lewis. He looks at her innocently, but as she stares him down, his stare breaks into a smirk. WHAM! She slaps Lewis right across the face. Her claws leave a mark.
O'Ryan approaches them, Blade confronts him. "Tighten your lease, big boy."
Knife Nickels, a bold and boisterous German Shorthaired Pointer, joins them from another direction wearing a tux. He brushes Blade back. "I'll handle this, Blade. Can I help you, Detective O'Ryan?"
"I'm looking for Mr Biddel."
"Who says he’s here?" Nickels asks.
"I do, dog-dammit!" O'Ryan barks.
Lewis and Knife bark back. "Say the magic word," Blade yaps. The thugs snicker.
O'Ryan reaches into a pocket of the tux and pulls out some poker chips. "Back off or I'll raid the Biddel Casino. I've seen evidence of your poker games ..."
An image of a Dogs Playing Poker painting on velvet flashes in O'Ryan's mind. They all see it. The dog thugs’ smiles vanish.
"And when I say raid, I mean I'll pee on every poker table and slot machine in sight. Accidentally." He growls and lifts a back leg in a threatening manner.
Knife Nickels takes a perfect Pointer stance in the direction of Mr Biddel. "Amazing. You know the magic word, Detective. Follow me." Nickels trots.
In the Opera Center's rehearsal room, Mr Biddel’s musical trio is playing. It consists of:
-- Guitarist Ivan, a blue-eyed Siberian Husky whose friends say is outgoing and friendly. His enemies know he's got a vicious bite and doesn't issue a warning growl first.
-- Drummer Marco, an Andalusian Hound whose excellent sight and hearing makes up for his scrawnny looks.
-- Pianist Frita, a very intelligent, curly-haired Spanish Water dog who daydreams of swimming in a lake.
Some may call Mr Biddel, a "blue" Bedlington Terrier, spirited and some may call him intelligent, but no one, I mean no one, calls him affectionate. His bodyguard Charla the Choke, a sturdy female English Bulldog with slobber on her big jowls, sits nearby. They both watch Susan Meropy, a high-strung but friendly Papillon, on a rehearsal platform. Other singers, also in fancy dress, stand to the side on the platform waiting their turn in line. Meropy is expertly howling a beautiful aria. Everyone but Mr Biddel and Charla smiles while listening to her.
Mr Biddel leans over to Charla. "Have her start working at the Casino tomorrow."
"Yes, sir," Charla says.
Lewis, Blade, O'Ryan and Nickels enter. Nickels trades a glance with Charla. She gives him a tiny smile. They've got something going on, after hours doggie style.
Charla signals to Meropy and she suddenly stops. "Wonderful, thank you, Miss Meropy. You can start tomorrow."
Meropy sees O'Ryan and laughs nervously. O'Ryan looks at the racy Dogs Playing Strip Poker painting hanging on the wall behind Mr Biddel. One of them looks like Susan.
"Thank you. Glad the opera lessons my parents paid for weren’t completely wasted," Susan says.
"Yes, they were. It won't be here," Mr Biddel says smugly.
Charla tosses Susan a skimpy glittery harness with a silvery chain-collar. "You’ll be working the Casino." O'Ryan growls. Susan just whines a sad note.
"Next!" barks Charla. One of the other singers, a Poodle mix, gets on the platform, yapping happily, brushing Susan aside. The Poodle mix gets the nod from Charla and starts singing her song.
"Mr Biddel, Detective O'Ryan wants to see you," Nickels says. Mr Biddel growls and stares coldly at O'Ryan for a moment before he turns on his characteristic charm with a friendly yap. "Detective O'Ryan, what a pleasure this is. What can I do for you?"
"There was a murder at the von Dyck mansion this morning," O'Ryan says.
"Horrible," Biddel says dryly.
"I appreciate your concern, considering your father was ..."
"Murdered there by a hit-and-run driver." YOWWLLL! Biddle howls at the moon. "So, you think there's a connection?"
O'Ryan examines the jowls of the other dogs, especially those in the band. "This one was reported yesterday."
"You're confused, Detective. How could the murder be reported yesterday but occur this morning?"
"Yesterday morning, a letter arrived at the von Dyck mansion demanding a ransom. If a million dog-bones wasn't paid in twenty-four hours, it said one of them would die."
Mr Biddel turns to Charla and Nickels. "Do you either of you think they paid the ransom?"
"Couldn't say, boss," Charla says.
"No clue, boss," Nickels says.
"I'm guessing they didn't. Such a dog-darned shame," Mr Biddel says.
"So, you had nothing to do with it?"
"Nothing whatsoever."
``Whoever did it killed one of your own family members," O'Ryan growls.
"It's a dog eat dog world out there," Mr Biddle says.
"Well, everywhere, actually," Susan correctly him. Mr Biddle stares her down. Charla adds to it a low growl. "Sorry," she whines.
O'Ryan tosses Mr Biddel a poker chip, which bounces off Biddel's nose and rolls over to Blade who sniffs it cautiously. Some dogs can't fetch worth one dog-damn. "I've got proof of illegal gambling at your casino. If I see you're connected with the mansion murder, you're going down."
"Illegal gambling? I have no idea what you are talking about," Mr Biddel says.
The cell-phone dangling from O'Ryan's collar rings. "You still have a 1939 cell phone, Lenny?" Susan asks. O'Ryan's cell phone looks like a box with a seem in it. Dogsville has always had cell phone, even in the 1940s. "I'll upgrade when I get around to it," he says as he flips it open, looks at the caller ID and closes it with a growl. "I gotta go. Thanks for nothing, Biddel" he says sarcastically.
O'Ryan looks at Meropy, who braves a sad "Call me," then he exits, growling as he passes Nickels and Charla.
Mr Biddel turns to his band. "You two, go prepare another dose," he barks. Frita and Marco nod and run out, barking excitedly, their nails clacking on the tile floor.
"Deliver another letter," Mr Biddel barks to Ivan.
Ivan nods. "At the usual time?"
"Yes."
Ivan bounds towards the door with a yap.
The Dogsville Police Department is a concrete and steel structure. Two uniformed German Shepherd cops enter the glass and steel double doors.
Typical glass-walled police office. Wanted posters on the walls, messy desk with a large desk plate reading "Commissioner Lockberg," overflowing bookshelf, scattered chairs. Commissionor Harvey Lockberg, a old Bloodhound, sits at his desk, sniffing the von Dyck case files. He's dressed in a three piece suit which doesn't quite hide his big beer belly.
Wearing a wrist watch and a uniform, Renee Molina, a female Doberman Pinscher with a mean disposition, stands at attention. Clayton Alton, a hard-working Hungarian Puli, enters with Ron the Rubberneck, a Dachshund, who he pushes down into a chair.
"Here’s Rubberneck, like you asked, Commissioner Lockberg," Alton says.
"Good work." Lockberg picks up a thick phonebook. "Back from Dogsville General already, Molina?"
"Sir, the doctor pronounced me fit and ready for duty," Molina says. She snaps at an imagined fly in the room.
"Glad you have you back on the force."
"Glad to be wearing the blue again, sir," she says.
"I'm not guilty. I had nothing to do with it," Rubberneck says innocently.
"I didn’t even ask you anything yet," says Lockberg.
"The news of the von Dyck murder has has every tail in the city wagging, but I don't know nothing," Rubberneck says.
Lockberg takes a practice swing at Rubberneck's head with the phonebook. "Just warming up," he growls.
"Poisoning is not my thing. I have simpler methods," Rubberneck whines.
"He burns his victims with acid," Molina says. Rubberneck's face stretches into a proud smile.
"True. It’s not his M.O., boss," Alton says.
Lockberg slams the phonebook on his desk. The phone rings. "Get this freak out of here. Question other other inmates."
"Mind if I borrow your phonebook?" Molina asks.
"I like the way you think, Molina, but get your own dog-damn phonebook!" Lockberg picks up the phone, held away form his jaws.
"Yes, sir." Alton and Molina leave with Rubberneck.
Lockberg speaks into the phone. "Dogsville Police, Lockberg. ... Son-of-a-bitch, another letter? ... Be right there." Lockberg grabs his coat and trots out.
Against the night time sky, the marquee of Biddel's Casino shouts:
O'Ryan exits his parked car, runs to an alley neighboring the entrance, climbs the steps up the side entrance, and throws open the door with his teeth. Too late, he sees the sign "Careful! Don't leave bite marks on the door knob!"
In her casino dressing room, Susan, still wearing her tiny dancing outfit, sips a drink and strips off glitter and make-up. KNOCK, KNOCK! O'Ryan enters.
"Some audition, huh, Lenny?" Susan says.
"From opera dreams to casino dancer. Mr Biddel sure stuck a pin in your ballon, doll face."
"Hostess, is the correct term, thank you," Susan says with a sarcastic laugh.
"Glad you can laugh about it. Do you know what's Mr Biddel up to?"
"All I know is what he pays me to know, which isn't much." Susan rubs up against O'Ryan. He smells her soft fur, then grows cold.
"This isn't a time for cuddles and kisses, cutie pie," he says. Susan backs off with a sniff.
"I’m waiting, Susan."
"He thinks his father was murdered by family members," she says.
"The ones still living in the von Dyck mansion?" he asks.
"He wants revenge and he wants the von Dyck mansion for his new headquarters."
"Lenny, get me out of here. Can't you do anything?"
"Right now, I’ve got a forest fire. I can’t save every tree."
``You better come back real soon, Mr Fireman.''
O'Ryan leaves her dressing room and runs out the side exit.
Beautiful gardens surround the Wainer mansion. Below a balcony, Sally, a graceful Basenji, heads towards a back door.
In the mansion's library, Penworth, a Welsh Corgi, enters with a serving tray, accompanied by Detective O'Ryan.
"Mister Wainer, Detective O'Ryan is here," Penworth announces. Penworth serves Bucky Wainer, a black French Bulldog, and Skip Foxman, a Smooth Fox Terrier, drink bowls.
"I saw you called and came right over," O'Ryan says.
Bucky looks at Skip. "Mr Foxman, head of Wainer Research, detected a break-in."
"Some chemical formulas from a compromised computer server were stolen," Foxman says.
"Any suspects?" O'Ryan asks.
"A hacker leaves paw prints on the computers they break into. Not real ones, of course, just little tell-tale signs that enable investigators to distinguish one hacker from another. This one has the pianist's paw prints all over it," Foxman says.
"Frita?"
YAP! "Sorry, I mean yep," Foxman nods.
Molina and Alton escort Rubberneck though the bullpen. Alton nips Rubberneck. "Rubber?" Alton asks. "I felt it," Rubberneck whines. and pushes him. "Move it. Back to your cell, Rubberneck and shut your yap."
Alton's cell-phone rings and he looks at the number. "Sorry Molina, I gotta take this. My kid was sick this morning."
"Go, Alton! Catch up with me when you can. I got this," Molina says with a snarling smile.
Alton leaves. Rubberneck and Molina walk through the rows of desks. She spots a phonebook on the desk of Detective Winona Eppie, West Highland White Terrier Molina passes Eppie's desk as she's questioning a Pekingese suspected of perpetrating a purse pick-pocketing.
"How are the kids, girlfriend?" Molina asks Eppie. Eppie drops a pen on the floor and leans over to pick it up. Out of nowhere, Rubberneck pulls out a knife. Molina picks up the phonebook and slams him beside the head, who, now dazed, drops the knife.
Eppie sits up, pen in hand, not seeing a thing. "Good. My littlest just started kindergarden."
Molina pockets the knife and tosses the phonebook to Eppie. "Phonebook fell. Is it time for indergarden already? I see a proud mommy!"
"That I am. Thanks, Molina. Be good now."
"I'm good, when I'm real good, I'm bad." They laugh. Molina pushes Rubberneck along.
Molina, with Rubberneck, walks up to the burly jailhouse guard, Tommy Teagle a Beagle mix, at the cellblock entrance. After he buzzes her in, she looks back to the guard.
"Lockberg wants to see you. Now, Teagle," Molina says. Doors slam behind Molina and Rubberneck. Teagle woofs, puts his night-stick on his table and trots out.
Right away, the inmates start with the hooting and cat-calls. Molina picks up the night-stick. The more Molina swaggers the worst the jeers get. After a dozen yards, she slams Rubberneck over the head with it, knocking him against the bars of a cell. That left a mark.
"In there," Molina barks. She points to his cell. Rubberneck enters, a dent in his head turning into a growing red bump. He moans. The cell door slams shuts.Molina looks at the other inmates. "Which one of you bitches wants it next?"
She walks over to the biggest and baddest of them all, Kurly, a King-Kong sized Komondor mix. "You, Kurly?" Kurly growls. Molina throws the knife into his leg so hard it disappears. Kurly yowls, drops to his side, and howls. She opens his cell door. "Those howls had better be dog-damned prayers. I have questions about the von Dyck mansion murder and you’d better have my answers."
Alton and Molina stands at the rim of a huge pool of bloody water. Well-lit from below, we can see three large sharks. Kurly stands cuffed by the edge of the pool. Rubberneck the Dachshund is beside him, shivering. "Why do you have a shark tank inside a jail?" Rubberneck asks.
"That's for the good dogs to know and the bad dogs to fine out," Alton barks.
Molina yanks on Kurly's fur. "Sharks love Komondors."
"What do you want, Molina?" Kurly asks.
"Do you know how long it takes for three freshwater bull sharks to eat a full-grown Komondor?" Molina asks. Kurly shakes his whole body.
"Rubberneck, do you know?" Molina asks.
"I don't know nothing," he whines.
Molina smiles invitingly, softly stroking Kurly's thick, curly hair. "Not even a guess?"
"Thirty minutes?" Kurly guesses.
Molina nods to Alton. He barks, grabs Rubberneck, who starts yapping loudly, and tosses him into the pool. The sharks get busy.
"Even a shark's gotta eat. Oh, they're hungry. Let's time it." Molina looks at Kurly, smiles coldly, then at her wrist watch. "He must be tough, they're still chewing," Alton says.
Rubberneck's painful YIPES! echo the walls. "They're just chewing," Kurly says.
"You're next, Kurly," Molina says, "unless you talk." Molina starts to push him into the pool.
"Stay away from the chew toy --" ACCKK! Kurly drops dead of a heart attack, right on Alton's front paw. Alton checks Kurly's pulse. "He's dead," Alton says.
"We've learned two valuable lessons today, Alton. First, the bigger they are, the harder they fall." Molina nods to Alton's sore paw. "Second, it takes at least three minutes for three freshwater bull sharks to eat a full-grown Dachshund," Molina says, checking her watch.
Alton peeks into the pool. "I think they're still chewing," Alton says.
The sun shines over a large grassy lawn in front of the von Dyck mansion.
Ivan silently slinks up to the front of the van Dahl mansion, with a letter in his teeth. He checks his watch and places a letter on the welcome mat. He paws the doorbell and vanishes around the corner.
In Biddle's laboratory, Marco and Frita wear lab coats. "Why don't we use the poison stolen from Wainer Research? Worked like a charm last time."
"Because, I have invented the perfect poison," Marco says. "I call it Tango Powder. The victim dances the tango until they drop dead of a heart attack." Marco does a little manic happy feet tango dance then stops when Frita shakes her head, then her neck, then her body.
She's totally unimpressed, and scratches behind her ears while growling to prove it. "How about a delayed action poison in a delicious chew toy?" Frita says. "Using the poison we just stole."
Marco lays down flat, his chin on the ground, and whines.
"What will get you nowhere," Molina snaps.
The large dining room of the von Dyck mansion is one big crime scene. Lockberg and several cops gather evidence. Shaka von Dyck, the Australian Silky Terrier, collapsed dead in her chair at one end of a long dining table. Molina and Alton, question Shaka's brother Carl and mother Gloria at the other end.
"When did she collapse?" Lockberg asks.
"Shaka collapsed right after dinner. Was it something she ate?"
"The victim has partially eaten asparagus on her plate," Alton says.
Lockberg absent-mindedly scratches behind his ear. Molina snaps at an imaginary bug in the air. "Did you eat the asparagus?" Lockberg asks Gloria.
"No, I gave mine to Shaka. She loved asparagus so much!" Mrs von Dyck starts to cry. Alton gives her a tissue. "What about you?" Alton asks Carl.
"I gave mine to Shaka as well. I hate asparagus," Carl says.
"I don't believe this guy," Molina whispers to Lockberg, eyeing Carl.
"What did Kurly tell you? I mean, before his heart attack in jail?" Lockberg asks Molina.
"He said don't touch the von Dyck’s chew toys," Molina says. Molina flips on her back.
"I'm not giving you a tummy rub, Molina," Lockberg says.
Molina barks at Carl. "Me neither," Carl says to Molina. Molina flips back on her feet and growls at Carl. "Did you kill her?" Lockberg barks at him.
"I swear didn't kill my sister," Carl whines. Carl grabs a chew toy. "That's mine!" Gloria von Dyck whines. They fight over the chew toy, growling, snarling and biting. Mrs von Dyck wins.
"Eat the asparagus then, Carl von Dyck!" Lockberg barks.
"I want my lawyer!" Carl howls. Lockberg and the other dog cops exchange yeah-they’re-guilty looks. Then .. AACCKK! Mrs von Dyck and Carl both gasp for breath, then collapse, dead.
Molina breaks the stunned silence from the dog cops. "Maybe they are innocent after all?"
"Bag that chew toy," Lockberg growls, "and let's get Biddel."
Lockberg, Molina, Alton and O'Ryan burst into at the Opera Center's rehearsal room, barking excitedly. Mr Biddel is listening to his musical trio playing jazz. The musicians stop.
"You're all under arrest," O'Ryan barks.
"We know how you poisoned your family, Biddel," Lockberg barks. He cuffs Biddel.
"We've got proof you stole the poison used from Wainer Labs, Frita," Molina growls. She cuffs Frita.
Ivan and Marco drop their instruments and run. Alton collars them both. O'Ryan cuffs Marco while Alton cuffs Ivan.
RING! O'Ryan checks his cell-phone. "I gotta take this" He answers his phone. "Susan, you okay? ... Good, tonight? Yeah. Can I call you right back? I've got my paws full. ... Two large dog bones and a gallon of toilet water? ... Okay!" O'Ryan hangs up.
"You lucky dog," Alton says. O'Ryan tries to hide an embarrassed smile.
"You bad dogs aren't so lucky," O'Ryan says to Biddle and his pack. "Bad dog!" Molina adds. Then she snaps at an imaginary fly in the room.
"But think of the bright side, you'll play all the music you like, in the Dogsville Cellblocks," O'Ryan growls.
Biddel and his cronies all howl to the moon.
No comments:
Post a Comment